


There’s Bound to be a Ghost at the Back of Your Closet

by BrighteyedJill



Series: Ghost in Your Closet [1]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-25
Updated: 2008-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur knows exactly how to make Peter do what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There’s Bound to be a Ghost at the Back of Your Closet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Anonymous Kink Meme II](http://perdiccas.livejournal.com/78788.html).

“Peter, seeing a movie is not the same as reading the book,” Angela said disdainfully.

  
“No, I know. But hearing the language helps me understand it better. Hey, Nathan, don’t you have Hamlet on video?”

  
“The Kenneth Brannaugh version,” Nathan said.

  
“That’d be perfect! My senior English teacher even mentioned that one in class. Hey, Mom, could I go back to Nathan’s place and watch the video?”

  
“It’s a school night,” she said.

  
“He can stay over,” Nathan offered. “I can drive him on my way to work. The high school’s closer to my place anyway.”

  
Peter failed to hide his grin. A night alone at Nathan’s! He could think of plenty of things they could do—and none of them involved the bard.

  
“He’s not going,” said Arthur. And that was that.  
\--

  
Not five minutes after Nathan was out the door, they were together in Peter’s bedroom.

  
“Stay still,” Arthur ordered.

  
Peter had discovered over the years that the compulsion was limited to movement he could control. He could get hard, he could even come if Arthur let him, but he couldn’t touch himself, couldn’t bite his lip, couldn’t grab the sheets, couldn’t finch away from Arthur’s touch, or lean into it.  
\--

  
“Why are we here, Peter?”

  
Peter was naked, kneeling on the floor, and Arthur stood at the foot of the bed, staring at him. Peter spent too long wondering if the question was rhetorical, so Arthur crouched in front of him and slapped his dick, causing a sharp sting of pleasure.

  
“Because…” Peter began. He couldn’t think of an answer that would satisfy Arthur.

  
“If you weren’t doing this, Peter, who would be?”

  
He was shaking. He couldn’t move, but the shaking was beyond his conscious control—unstoppable. “N—N—.”

  
Arthur slapped him across the face. “Spit it out, boy.”

  
“Nathan.”

  
Arthur stood again. “So why are you here?”

  
“Nathan can’t take this.”

  
“Oh, he could.” Arthur prowled around behind Peter, his voice soft and menacing. “I’d only need to tell him once, ‘don’t move,’ and then he’d take whatever I wanted, no complaints.”

  
“No.” Nathan was too good for that. Beyond where anything like this should be able to touch him. Nathan didn’t deserve to be dragged down to this level the way Peter did.

  
“No? Why not?”

  
“I’m a slut,” Peter intoned. The words were learned, expected, easy. “Made for this. Use me.”

  
“Good boy, Peter.” Arthur pulled Peter’s jaw open and forced his cock inside. He sighed in pleasure at the warm wetness of his son’s throat. He felt Peter gag, but Peter didn’t pull back. He couldn’t move, so he’d have to learn to endure. “Isn’t it nice not to be a disappointment for once?”  
\--

  
Arthur twisted two well-lubed fingers inside Peter. “Looks like your brother’s been keeping you well exercised. Does he ever notice a difference, after I’ve fucked you wide open?” Arthur added another finger. “I bet he doesn’t ask. He’s come to terms with the fact that you’re a whore.”

  
Peter’s face was pressed into the floor, his ass pushed up high for easy access. He couldn’t move, of course, but that wasn’t a bad thing. It saved him the humiliation of pushing back on Arthur’s hand.

  
There were suddenly four fingers, and then Arthur’s thumb tucked into the middle, stretching Peter impossibly wide. He couldn’t move away. “You can say no,” said Arthur.

  
Peter remained silent. Arthur rotated his wrist, but he didn’t push his hand any deeper.

  
“No fisting tonight,” he said finally.  
\--

  
“You can move.”

  
It always took Peter a few seconds to get his body under conscious control again after Arthur said those words.

  
“Get on top.” Arthur propped himself against the headboard, cock standing out rigid from its nest of dark hair. An image flashed through Peter’s mind, of Nathan in the same position, beckoning him with a finger and a sardonic grim. He banished the image; Nathan, even memories of Nathan, didn’t belong here. Peter did as he was told.  
\--

  
“Tell me about your last time with Nathan.”

  
Peter paused, his legs shaking as he held himself up, riding Arthur’s cock. He slid back down into Arthur’s lap, slowly, to buy himself some time.

  
Arthur reached a hand under Peter’s ass and shoved another finger in alongside his dick, stretching Peter painfully. “I want to hear it.”

  
“Here. It was here,” Peter whispered. “When you and mom were at that dinner party on Thursday.” He didn’t want to talk about Nathan. Arthur knew he didn’t want to talk about Nathan.

  
“Keep going,” Arthur said.

  
Peter immediately resumed fucking himself on Arthur’s cock. He hated this position, when he couldn’t hide his face, or his arousal, from Arthur. When he was not only allowed, but expected to move. When he had to _participate_.

  
“Did he fuck you?”

  
“Yeah,” Peter breathed. “But first he sucked me.”

  
Arthur’s slap across his face was unexpected. It broke Peter’s rhythm, and he faltered to a stop with Arthur fully buried inside him.

  
“That’s not his job,” Arthur said coldly. “Nathan doesn’t need to waste his time doing that. You get off from being fucked. That’s what you’re good for.”  
\--

  
Peter ended up on his back, holding his legs up and spread while Arthur pounded into him. Peter was painfully hard. Arthur knew his son’s body well, and angled his thrusts to punch into Peter’s prostate. The order to be still was in effect again, so Peter couldn’t touch himself to finish it, and tears of frustration and shame streamed down his cheeks. It hurt, and it was too hard and too much, and it had gotten Peter very, very close to the edge.

  
“You’re so good when you’re like this, Peter.” Arthur said. “No chance to fail. You just have to take it. And you take it so beautifully.”

  
It shouldn’t feel good. He shouldn’t be sliding closer to the edge with every brutal thrust. Arthur’s words shouldn’t thrill him with perverse pride. But as soon as Arthur wrapped a hand around his cock, Peter came.  
\--

  
Arthur zipped up his pants as he admired the sight of his youngest son lying flat on his bed, face flushed, too-long hair clinging to his face in sweaty strands, come leaking out of his stretched ass. “You stay there and think about what you’ve done, Peter,” he ordered. “I’ll be back to let you get cleaned up in the morning.”  
\--

  
Arthur slid into bed and pulled the covers up. Angela wrapped an arm around his chest from behind and pressed against him, warm and solid. “How did your session go with Peter?” she asked.

  
“Fine. He’s getting better conditioned every day. And he’d take a bullet for his brother, undoubtedly. He’ll be ready soon.”

  
“He’s always been a selfless child.” There was a note of wistfulness in Angela’s voice.

  
“It’s worth it if that’s the price of getting Nathan elected.”

  
Angela sighed. “Must we give him to Daniel?”

  
Arthur turned around and pressed a kiss to Angela’s forehead. “Linderman won’t hurt your precious baby, Angela.”

  
She smiled. “I know. Or if he does, he can fix him.”

  
Arthur wrapped his arms around her tenderly, and she relaxed against his chest. “Good night,” he whispered. “Pleasant dreams.”

  



End file.
